Mending Scars
by PrioritiesNeverSorted
Summary: After the battle, Ron and Hermione take comfort in and try to heal one another. When they have a moment the next morning, Harry interrupts it, of course. Rated for language. It's Ron, after all.


**A/N: Sooo... this is my first time publishing a fic, although I've been writing for years. I generally hate when people read my work, but I have to learn to put myself out there, I suppose, so here you go. I'm aware that the dorm situation doesn't work like this, but I made up a bunch of crap about having a prefect's dorm that's actually more like what I imagine they'd have for the Head Boy/Girl. Whatever.**

**If I owned Harry Potter, Lily would've ended up with Snape and Tom Riddle would've started the free hugs movement in wizarding society.**

_Hermione POV_

Staring into the mirror, I took a good look at myself for the first time in months. I looked absolutely awful. Bruised, war torn, and scarred for life, both physically and mentally. And the worst part was, all of the people I cared about most were in even worse states, particularly the Weasley family.

God, I didn't even want to think about that. Seeing Fred's lifeless body lying there in the Great Hall was hard enough for me, I couldn't even begin to imagine how it must've felt for Molly and Arthur... Ron... and poor George was so broken up, I don't think he'd said a word to anyone all night. Last I heard, he'd locked himself in the seventh year dormitory and was refusing to come out for anything. I really didn't know how they were going to get through this. Hell, I didn't know how I was going to get through this.

I looked back to the mirror and started an ill-conceived attempt at running a brush through my tangled locks of hair, which now reached more than halfway down my back. At least I'd gotten most of the blood out of it. Aside from Voldemort having been defeated, it was just about the only pleasant thing about that night.

Well... except for one thing. The one thing that so many insults, late nights, arguments, and near death situations had been leading up to for at least the past five years.

Ronald Weasley kissed me. Well, I kissed him. We kissed each other. It was something I'd wanted for a long time (at least when he wasn't driving me absolutely mental). But instead of appreciating it and reveling at how amazing he tasted or how perfectly our lips seemed to fit together, all I could do was worry. We could very well have died at any given moment, so was it just a spur of the moment thing? Did he think it was a mistake? Of course he would. There was no way he could ever like a bossy, bushy-haired know-it-all-

"Hermione! Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry, I didn't think anyone was in here-" I looked up just in time to see a flash of flaming red hair retreating back through the door.

"Ron, wait!"

He stopped in the doorway, but didn't turn around. I soon realized why: Because of the solitude I'd been engrossed in, I hadn't fastened my robe. Face flushing even redder than his hair, I yanked it closed and immediately began fumbling with the ties. "Er... you can turn around now." When he did, very hesitantly, he refused to look at me, and his ears were bright red as well.

"I was just going to shower," he explained quickly, "but I can find somewhere else. I just- I thought there was no one in here."

"No, I'm done," I replied, gesturing to the brush I had just set on the sink. "I was just, er... trying to sort out my hair... kind of pointless, really..."

"It's getting really long," he noted, slowly walking over to me. I watched his reflection in the mirror as he came up behind me and began gently raking his fingers through my damp locks of hair. "I've never seen it this long."

''Yeah, I need to cut it."

"No!" he said at once, startling me. "I mean... it looks nice like this. I like it." I surely must have blushed. He started to play with a few loose strands at my neckline, his fingers occasionally brushing against the skin of my neck. After a moment, he stopped. I looked in the mirror to find him looking down with his brow furrowed in either confusion or concern. I couldn't tell which. "Where did this come from?" he asked, running his fingers over the visible segment of a particularly bad scar that ran from my neck to the back of my shoulder, dipping down into the upper part of my back a bit at the end. I closed my eyes at his touch.

"Godric's Hollow," I replied, trying to keep my voice from wavering as his hands roamed my bare skin, sending a shiver down my spine. "It was Voldemort's snake, right before we Disapparated." He looked upset for a moment, probably because of the guilt he still voiced even now about leaving Harry and I. I wished he would just forget about that.

"That looks really bad." I almost protested when he removed his hand, but caught myself. "Didn't you try to heal it at all?" I shook my head.

"I was a bit distracted. Harry went kind of crazy after we Disapparated, so I guess I didn't notice." He simply stared at it for a few more seconds, looking somewhat like he was trying to just will it away.

"You still have that stuff you used on me after I got splinched?"

"The Essence of Dittany? Yeah-"

Before I could so much as get another word out, he had conjured his wand and pointed it at my beaded bag, which was lying on the floor just a few feet away. "Accio Dittany." A small brown bottle zoomed toward him, which he caught and unstoppered. He delicately tucked his fingers underneath the collar of my robe and met my eyes in the mirror. "You mind?" I shook my head and tried to keep my breathing even. He gently pulled down my robe just enough to see the entirety of the long, jagged scar. It slipped down off my shoulders and I suddenly became very aware of the fact that I wasn't wearing anything underneath it. I felt Ron's fingers trace the length of the angry red mark before raising the small syringe over it. "Tell me if it hurts too much," he instructed quietly; I could only nod.

The moment the cold liquid hit my wound, I let out an involuntary gasp and clutched the edge of the sink. "You want me to stop?" he asked in concern.

"No, it's fine," I replied. "It just stings a bit."

"More than a bit, if I remember correctly, but if you're sure..." He let a little more drip over the deep cut, but I was prepared this time. I could feel it seeping into my skin and closing the wound slightly. I knew there would still be a permanent scar there, though, just like the one on Ron's shoulder, along with many others, I'm sure. After another minute or so, he was finished with the dittany, so he set it down and pulled my robe back up over my shoulders. Had I learned in previous years that he would one day be doing all of this to me, I probably would have laughed in disbelief. I never pegged him as much of a gentleman, especially after the Yule Ball during our fourth year. Had I voiced this to him, I know exactly what he would've said: "Always the tone of surprise."

Instead, I just thanked him quietly. I didn't know why I was being so shy around him now, and I'm sure he was even more perplexed by my behavior. We'd kissed in the Room of Requirement, right in front of Harry. I held him for hours after the battle while he mourned his brother's death. Why in the name of Merlin was I so nervous around him now?

His voice is what brought me out of the convoluted mess that was my train of thought. "'Mione? Are you all right?" _Mione?_ That was new.

"Oh, er, yes. I'll just, um... go..." Ron just stood there while I quickly collected my things and prepared to leave, but he spoke up when I was halfway out the door.

"Hermione - wait." I turned around to stare curiously at him, but said nothing. He was twisting his wand nervously in his hands. "Um, I was just wondering... I mean, I just wanted to know if..." He swore under his breath. I smiled softly to myself. I'd always found his inarticulate manner of speech rather endearing, however much I might have claimed otherwise. "Would you stay with me tonight? I... I don't want to be alone." The question made me surprised, nervous, and rather happy all at the same time. In all honesty, I was hoping for the chance to spend a night with him without the constant threat of death.

"Of course I will."

I waited in the adjacent room nervously while Ron showered. The prefect's dorm was certainly big enough for two people, as was the bed... the _one_ bed.

How was I ever going to do this without losing my head? I was usually so calm, so rational, but the thought of sleeping in the same bed as Ron Weasley had me out of sorts. I suppose I could confound him when he came out of the bathroom and then flee the room... Merlin, what was I even thinking anymore?

I wasn't.

I quickly changed into my pajamas, then retrieved a random book from my bag and settled myself on the bed, hoping to calm myself down. I stared at the cover of the book; it was Harry's copy of Quidditch Through The Ages. It was one of few books I'd never actually read, so I flipped it open and began to devour the information like a madwoman. It was the one thing that never failed to put my mind at ease.

It wasn't long before I heard the water in the next room shut off. Just knowing that he would soon emerge caused my heart to start pounding. _'Just relax,'_ I thought to myself. _'Feeling this nervous is completely illogical, now stop.'_

Needless to say, my internal pep talk didn't help much.

_Ron POV_

When I came out of the bathroom, I found Hermione lounging on the bed, legs pulled up to her chest, and a book clutched in her hands. Watching her read brought me one step closer to normal. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and her eyes were still slightly red and puffy from crying; I spotted several scars littered across her bare skin and felt a strong desire to just kiss them all away. I still thought she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. I just wished I would've realized it sooner.

She looked up and smiled softly when she noticed me in the room. Merlin, that look... _Marry me, have my babies..._

"Hey," she said quietly, closing the book but keeping a finger between the pages to keep her place. She always did that.

"Oh, er, um... hey."

_Brilliant reply, Ron, _I thought to myself. I could already feel the tips of my ears reddening. _Think of something else to say, you pathetic git..._

As I took a few steps closer to the bed, I was able to read the cover of the book in her lap. _"Quidditch Through The Ages?_ Never thought I'd see the day you voluntarily read that one." She laughed quietly to herself while I sat on next to her on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, well... it was the first one I pulled out of the bag. And I don't hate Quidditch, I just hate flying. It's quite fun to watch, though." I couldn't help but grin at that. The girl I loved actually _liked_ to watch Quidditch. All this time, I thought she hated it, and only went to games to support Harry. _Be more perfect, I dare you..._

I nudged her gently in the shoulder. "We'll have to go to a Cannons game together sometime, then."

_Together._ The word felt so right now, when it came to me and Hermione. I wanted to kick myself for not realizing it earlier. Did it really take nearly being killed countless times for us to act on our feelings for each other? As long as it happened, I suppose...

"I'd like that."

_Hermione POV_

_Did I really just agree to go to a Chudley Cannons game with him? I _must_ be in love with him._ He fell silent then, a small smile still playing across his lips as he looked down and began playing with my fingers. How could something so insignificant feel so bloody good? I tried not to dwell on that question and instead, simply reveled in the feeling of his worn, calloused hands against mine.

"It's really over, isn't it?" His quiet voice brought me out of my reverie. It wasn't really a question that needed an answer; the finality of it all hung heavily in the air. He was staring down at our hands; I slowly laced our fingers together, and they looked so right sitting there together on top of the duvet.

Duvet. _Bed._ Oh, God, now we were supposed to sleep. _Together. _Sure, we'd slept in quite close quarters before, even fallen asleep holding hands at Grimmauld Place after his brother's wedding, but we'd never slept together in the same bed. It really shouldn't have been a big deal, but my overworked and overtired mind was analyzing everything too much and making huge deals out of the tiniest details.

"You look exhausted," I noted. He laughed, and I'm sure it was only because if he didn't laugh, he'd cry. He rubbed his tired eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed with a small nod. "Bit of a long day." I scooted over and pulled back the covers.

"Plenty of room here." He grinned gratefully, then slid into bed next to me. He sat up against the pillows, sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Thanks for staying with me tonight," he said softly, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall. "I really don't think I could handle being alone tonight. Plus, I... I feel better being near you," he added, finally turning to look at me. "I don't think I could sleep without knowing you're safe." Tears welled in my eyes, but I wasn't sure why. I squeezed his hand, reassuring him of my safety.

"I'm okay, Ron," I said. "Thanks to you." He returned the pressure, but looked away and wiped his eyes; I assumed he didn't want me to see the tears that had sprung to his eyes as well. I wished he would feel comfortable enough with me to not feel the need to repress his feelings, but I wasn't about to push him, not when his brother was just killed.

_Ron POV_

The intense combination of feelings that had culminated within me was overwhelming. Obviously, I was relieved that this whole bloody mess was over, but I was also stricken with grief over the death of my brother while simultaneously being overjoyed that my relationship with Hermione had progressed so brilliantly. I hadn't been this confused since I took my Transfiguration O.W.L.

"Ron? Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Oh." I looked over at Hermione and tried to smile, but it ended up being more of a grimace. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... tired..." I let go of her hand and scrubbed at my face, willing myself not to break down into tears. I just didn't have the strength to deal with it right now; all I really wanted to do was sleep and forget about everything except for the beautiful girl next to me.

Suddenly, I felt a number of small fingers kneading my shoulders, and I automatically tensed up.

"Relax, it's just me," came Hermione's soft voice.

"Sorry," I apologized quickly. "Force of habit."

"'S alright," she murmured as she continued to massage my incredibly tense shoulders and neck. "I think we'll all be a bit jumpy for a while, given everything we've been through." I nodded my agreement. After a few minutes of sitting there in comfortable silence, my eyelids began to grow heavy. My head slowly drooped then lolled to the side, and I jerked it back up quickly. I heard Hermione giggle softly from my side; she then removed her hands from my shoulders and gently pushed me down on the bed, pulling the duvet over me before climbing underneath herself and settling her head against my chest. "Goodnight, Ron," she murmured sleepily. For the first time that day, the smallest traces of a smile formed on my lips. I wrapped the arm I had underneath he around her shoulder and nuzzled my cheek against the top of her head.

"'Night, Hermione."

* * *

><p><em>Harry POV<em>

When I finally woke up, I felt more rested than I had in years, more rested than I had my entire life, even. It felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted off of my shoulders; I guess it had. I sat up and stretched, noticing for the first time that I was alone. Ginny must have already woken up and gone in search of her family.

As much as I didn't want to, I got up and out of my incredibly comfortable four poster bed. I heard loud snores coming from Dean and Seamus's respective beds and laughed quietly to myself, finding a strange sense of comfort in the familiar sound. I quickly changed into some fresh clothes and laced up my trainers before heading down to the Common Room, which was, unsurprisingly, empty. I expected that anyone who was awake was in the Great Hall, so I decided to head down there.

I passed a few people who stopped to congratulate me as I made my way through the damaged corridors, which were eerily quiet except for the sounds of Peeves singing a made up victory song, much as he had done immediately following the end of the battle.

The Great Hall was bustling with life when I entered, as most of those who had fought stayed the night in the castle, and it seemed that many others had come to the school to help with repairs. A plethora of people made their way over to me upon my entrance in order to thank me or shake my hand and things of the like. Honestly, I wasn't sure I deserved it.

Finally, I reached the spot in the middle of the Gryffindor table where a mass of redheads were huddled together. Everyone seemed to be leaning on one another for support, both physically and emotionally. None of them looked as though they'd gotten much sleep, not that I could blame them. I was surprised to see George there, unshed tears in his eyes with Percy talking to him in a low voice at his side. I saw Ginny leaning against her father's chest as he stroked her hair, and sat down across from her. She flashed me a small, tired smile when I reached over to put my hand on top of hers.

"Oh, Harry, dear, you must be absolutely starving," Mrs. Weasley said as she came over and began fussing over me. I noticed how puffy and red her eyes looked; it seemed as though she was keeping herself busy in order to keep her grief at bay. "You look so peaky, you and Ron and Hermione. Speaking of which, have you seen them?" She quickly put together a plate of sausage, eggs, and toast and set it in front of me.

"Oh, um... I haven't actually," I replied, wondering for the first time where they'd gone off to after the battle. "I can go find them if you want, Mrs. Weasley."

"No, that's quite alright, dear, I'm sure they'll be down. You eat."

I only managed to escape after finishing off my first helping of breakfast by excusing myself to use the loo. If I hadn't, I'm sure Mrs. Weasley would've fed me until I exploded. Once out in the entryway, I took out a folded piece of parchment and tapped it with my wand, muttering, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Slowly, splotches of ink appeared and began to take the form of the castle. What was left of it, anyway. Most of the dots labeled with people's names were centered in and around the Great Hall, which was bustling with life, but not the two dots I was looking for in particular. My eyes traveled up to the Gryffindor Tower section of the map and scanned the few names that were scattered in the dorms. When I finally found their respective representative dots, it came as no surprise to see them together. What I hadn't counted on was finding them so close together. In the Prefect's dorm. _Alone. _I was unable to hide a smirk as I tapped the parchment, muttered, "Mischief managed," and headed up the Grand Staircase towards Gryffindor Tower.

_Hermione POV_

I woke up feeling strangely rested. I noticed what looked like morning sunlight streaming in through the window; I must've slept through the entire day, since the battle ended the morning prior. Strike that, _we _must have slept through the entire day. I smiled, looking over at the young man whose arm was draped heavily over my midsection. He was snoring lightly, and he looked more peaceful than he had in at least a year.

Before I knew what was happening, my hand had moved of its own accord and was delicately brushing the falling fringe of hair from his face. My heart did flips when he smiled softly in his sleep at my touch. Contented, I settled my head in the crook of his neck and closed my eyes, reveling in how right it felt to wake up in his arms. Five months ago, I didn't have even the slightest hope of this becoming a reality, yet here I was, lying in his warm embrace.

I laid there for maybe another ten minutes or so - I was too excited by the progression of our relationship to go back to sleep - before he began to stir. He yawned, then opened his eyes, squinting in the morning light.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, his voice bogged down with sleep, "what time is it?"

"Dunno," I replied. "Only been up for a few minutes." I brought my hand up and began to idly trace random patterns on his chest over his thin shirt. "I hope I didn't wake you." He shook his head.

"You sleep alright?"

"First time I haven't had nightmares since Malfoy Manor," I confirmed. I felt him tense up at the mention of that place.

"Good," he replied almost gruffly.

To most people, Ron's underwhelming amount of joy - or lack thereof - in the wake of Voldemort's demise would come as a surprise. I suspected, however, that he was still in shock over his brother's death. "Are you okay?" I asked timidly. He shifted so that he could sit up slightly against his pillow.

"Yeah. No. Maybe. I don't know," he concluded, wrenching his eyes shut and throwing a hand over them. He heaved a great sigh. "I don't fucking know anymore," he repeated, more softly this time. Seeing Ron like this was not something I knew exactly how to deal with, but when his shoulders began to shake with sobs, I knew I had to do something. Tentatively, I sat up and wrapped my arms around his shaking form, then rested my head against the side of his face, hoping the touch would give him at least some semblance of comfort.

"I'm so sorry, Ron," I whispered into his neck as a few stray tears cascaded down my cheeks. His only response was an awful, strangled sob that escaped his throat as he moved so that I could embrace him more fully. He clung desperately to my torso and laid his forehead on my shoulder as everything from the past twenty-four hours finally caught up with him.

"He can't be gone, Hermione," he cried. "He can't just leave us here to deal with this shit! It's not fair!"

For the first time in my life, I was at a loss for words. What do you say when your best friend and the love of your life had seen his brother murdered only a day before?

I wanted to make him feel better. I wanted to kiss all of his tears away and tell him that everything would be okay, but to say that would taste a lie, and I simply couldn't bring myself to do that to him. I decided that the best thing I could do for him was just to be there and support him. I would stay here and hold him for as long as he needed me to.

I don't know how long I sat there, cradling him while he cried over Fred. It could've been hours for all I knew, not that it mattered in the least. When his tears finally subsided, his head remained resting in the crook of my neck while he attempted to regain control of his ragged, labored breathing. I ran my fingers through his silky ginger locks in what I hoped was a comforting manner.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, his voice weak from crying.

"Please, don't be, Ron," I pleaded. "You deserve time to grieve more than anyone. Don't apologize for being upset." He hugged me a little tighter against his body.

"I just miss him so much already," he whispered. "And I keep thinking about how close I came to losing you, and I just... I don't know how I could live without you... because I love you, Hermione..." My breathing hitched at his confession, but I tried not to show my shock. I didn't want him to get the wrong impression, but I simply didn't expect that from him.

"Ron, I... I love you, too..." I pulled back and placed my hands on either sides of his face, forcing him to look at me. "And I'm okay," I continued, gently wiping a few tears away with my thumbs. "I'm here... we're both alright..." He sniffled noisily once, then nodded his head.

"Thanks, Hermione. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Your own essays."

The sound of his laughter, which I realized I'd taken for granted over the years, filled the room. I hated how foreign it sounded now. He glanced quickly at the watch he'd gotten for his seventeenth birthday. "Oh, bugger, it's nearly eleven... Mum's gonna have a heart attack if we don't go down soon..."

"Ron, you just helped save the world. I don't think your mum will mind if you sleep in."

"Nah, she'll think we got kidnapped by some loose Death Eaters or something..." He disentangled himself from our embrace and turned so that he could swing his legs over the edge of the bed. "My clothes are still in your bag, right?"

"Ron, your back!" I gasped once he'd turned from me. "You're bleeding!"

"Huh? Oh, bloody hell..." Sure enough, there was a rather large dark red streak staining the back of his faded orange Chudley Cannons shirt. He immediately stood up and checked the sheets for blood. He cleaned it up with a wave of his wand while I began digging through my beaded bag for the essence of dittany. "I think it's from when Dolohov cursed me in the courtyard," I heard him mutter. "Must've opened up during the night..."

I walked back over to his side with the small brown bottle in hand. Cautiously, I tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Alright, off."

"W-what?" he stammered, a fierce blush creeping from his neck all the way up to the tips of his ears.

"Your shirt, I need it off," I repeated, a very forced calm evident in my voice, which, to my embarrassment, had shaken audibly. I felt my own face heat up, and I mentally cursed myself for feeling so unnaturally nervous in this situation. It wasn't as if I'd never seen him shirtless before; quite the opposite, actually, what with spending many hot summers at the Burrow and living with him and Harry on the run over the past ten months. I suppose things were a bit different now, seeing as we'd snogged each other senseless during the battle the night before and were now currently alone together in a bedroom.

I tugged once again at the hem of his shirt, this time pulling up a bit to reveal the smooth skin of his stomach. I fought hard to resist the urge to run my hands over his body and continued to pull the shirt up, trying not to irritate the open wound on his back in the process. It was then that I noticed that he wasn't trying to rid himself of the shirt; instead, he gazed at me intently while I slid it up, inch by inch. I had to stand up on my toes in order to slip it over his head, and when I was done, our faces were extremely close together. Much closer than I thought, although neither one of us moved away. His eyes were locked on my own and his gaze didn't waver, not even when my own flitted quickly down to glance at his lips before returning to his eyes.

Before I knew what was happening, our lips were locked together once more. Without the threat of death looming overhead, this kiss was much less desperate than our first, although it contained no less passion. I registered everything so much more clearly this time: the feel of his lips against mine, how sweet he tasted when he slid his tongue inside my mouth, and the tiny little contented sighs that occassionally escaped the back of his throat now and then. My fingers were threaded in his soft red hair; one of his hands softly caressed the side of my face while the other rested against the small of my back, pulling me close against his body. His bloodstained shirt and the bottle of dittany lay forgotten at our feet.

I would've been more than happy to remain in that position forever, had I not been brought out of my reverie by the sound of the door opening. Ron and I immediately broke apart and looked toward the doorway in order to identify the intruder who had interrupted our private moment. To my chagrin, our best friend stood at the entrance to the dormitory, the biggest grin I'd ever seen lining his lips. "Interrupting something, am I?" he asked, clearly delighted by the looks of pure mortification written on our faces at having been caught in such a situation.

"It's not what it looks like!" Ron cried desperately as he whirled around on the spot, looking for some sort of evidence to support his claim. Harry just smirked, then crossed his arms over his chest and leaned casually against the doorframe.

"Really? 'Cause it looked an awful lot like you two had your faces glued together. And Ron, it seems your shirt just happened to fall off. Rather curious, wouldn't you say, Hermione?" I glared at him; he was enjoying this far too much.

"Harry James Potter, you wipe that bloody smile off your face right this instant!" Unable to contain himself any longer, he finally broke down into loud peals of laughter. "It's not funny! Ron- he's bleeding!" To prove my point, I grabbed Ron's arm, which I noticed was now rather firm and muscular because of his years on the Gryffindor Quidditch team - _focus, Hermione!_ - and showed Harry the bloody gash on his back. Ron turned back towards his best mate and motioned helplessly at the bottle of dittany on the floor, which I then scrambled to pick up.

"She was just going to- we were only-"

"Playing Healer?" he suggested with a quirk of his eyebrow. It seemed that neither Ron nor I could come up with any sort of response, because we just stood there, gaping stupidly at him while he smirked at us. "Right. Well, I'll just leave you to it, then." The pillow Ron threw at him hit the door just after he'd ducked out.

"Knock next time, you git!" He turned to me, a sheepish half grin lining his lips. "So, er... where were we?" I summoned all of my remaining Gryffindor courage and threw my arms back up around his neck.

"About here, I think." He flashed me a genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"Always knew you were the brilliant one."


End file.
